


Hunger

by Nixiesaurus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixiesaurus/pseuds/Nixiesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For folly, Jim has hidden Sebastian's drugs.  In response, the tiger gets desperate to recover what was taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> This work is dedicated to Zhelly, who inspired me to write this with her prompt, and continues to inspire me with her awesomeness!

There was something in the way his skin crawled. The way it burned up his spine, that sensation, that need. It tickled his bones and made him feel as though he maintained an insatiable thirst. It was the kind of thirst that made Sebastian's tongue curl; made his chest heave. He needed it, he knew, more than anything, more than even life itself, and sitting in the living room of Jim's flat, he found his fingers drumming incessantly on the armrest of the wing back chair he'd taken so affectionately to. Knees bouncing, toes tapping, his fingers beat out to the same fast pace of his own heart, and Sebastian's withdrawal had only now started to go into full-effect. It had been hours since Jim had been home, since he'd so graciously responded to a text of:

_> >I need a hit. SM _

_> >K. JM_

Fucking _'K._ ' How childish, how stupid, how – how – how -

Sebastian took a heaving breath and pounded a curled fist down on the armrest, using the momentum to push himself up, and there, began to pace. Ten steps left, ten steps right, and Jesus Christ he needed it. It had been – what, how many days? How many days since he'd put that needle to his veins, or lined up some of that sweet powder on the mirror in Jim's bathroom? One step, one day. Two step, two days. Three, four, five, and stomp, stomp, eight, nine, ten. Ten, and Sebastian gnawed on his lower lip, the perspiration across his brow something new, something desperate, and a few beads fell down his face with the momentum of his head turning to look to the lobby, to the foyer, from the living room, hearing the 'Beep-a-beep-blip,' of the fingerprint registry accepting James' thumb, and the click of the locks revealed the front door opening to the home.

Whistling some tune, something from the 1950's Americana, Sebastian didn't care to pick it up, but couldn't help the, '..build me up, buttercup baby, just to let me down,' that phrased in his mind with the whistle of the tune, to match. He froze, knowing the dampness down the front of his shirt, along the armpits, along the sides, would have told the great genius exactly what was going on. That, and the texts that he'd been sending as the days progressed, the messages of:

_> >Boss, I'm not fucking around. SM _

_> >I need some. SM _

_> >Sir, where the fuck did you hide it? SM _

James. He was observant in every way possible. He could look at Sebastian and accuse the man of worrying too much over a gambling debt, simply by the length of his chewed thumbnail. Surely, in this moment, Jim would – and did – step into the living room and, pausing in the doorway, took one gander at the tiger and blinked a few times, eyes zoning in on the specific details of Moran's physique. Ah, yes, the sweat, the rapid heart rate... the breathing, the clenching and loosening of those calloused hands... it was all telltale signs of withdrawal, James knew, just from one dainty little glance.  With a hum and a shrug, the little magpie strolled into the living room, “I don't know where I put it.”

“You don't know where you put it?” Sebastian spat back, his hands gripping the back of the luxurious chair he'd taken a seat in earlier. Fingers, claws, dug and pinched the fabric with merciless anger, "You don't just forget where you put drugs, _sir_." With his head low, the sniper's eyes watched James as the man decided to finally enter the threshold and pass through the room. With a nonchalant stroll and a hitch in his step, Moriarty walked from the doorway and into the living room, standing in the center of it and idly drawing his mobile from his pocket. Flicking through a few texts, he ignored Sebastian for the time being and gave a short, breathy sigh of, "I recall you using it the other night. Tuesday, was it? Yes. Tuesday, I believe." The criminal's stance cocked a hip to the side, and Moriarty read through the most recent reports from Greece, before he shot back a text message to collapse the government. Pausing, James glanced back to his tiger and caught in his eye the veins in his neck, the way his nostrils were flared. Oh, Sebastian was angry.

"Yes. _Tuessssday_ ," Moran snarled, his head oscillating on his shoulders, the motion rolling his shoulders downward and loosening them. It was very visible, then, that the tiger had done everything he could to stay calm, but the desperation in his tone was growing. The jitters had set in, and he walked from around the chair towards his criminal, footsteps like stomps on the expensive Persian rug below.  Once he neared the criminal, there was a saunter in his step as he spun around, and stood behind Moriarty. His eyes heavy, breaths uneven, the sniper crooned his head down alongside the neck of the criminal, glancing over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of the scrolling news reports on Moriarty's phone. "Tuesday... it's been too many days," Sebastian finally said, the ghost of his touch lingering somewhere around James' lower back. The touch, warm, from a large paw and stern in its own way, pushed down at the base of Jim's spine.

The shiver made Moriarty snort, "Daddy doesn't have time for games."

"Sebby isn't playing games, sir. He's very, very serious, I'm afraid," Moran shot back, with those large paws finding their way to snake around James' waist. A squeeze of a grip and a twist of their frames, and Moriarty was turned to face the taller of the two. Granted, such actions typically earned Sebastian a crack across the face and a, 'Down, boy,' from Jim, but this time, the criminal was too intrigued by exactly what lengths Sebastian was willing to go to get back what was his. Moriarty idly slipped the mobile back into his pocket, eyes squint slightly, curiously, with trepidation at his partner. That's when the push came, a sort of gentle tap backwards, that prompted Moriarty to step back again, again, again, until his calves touched the wing back chair and his arse was planted in the seat with a gentle shove. Sanguine eyes watched Moran, then, as James unfastened his suit's buttons, loosening his jacket around his middle.

With his hands against James' knees, the knight knelt down in front of his king, grunting slightly at the effort it took the old tiger to do so. His shoulders strong and hands stronger, he leaned as far as he could, until his hands scooped up the magpie's left foot. Armani Derby shoe in micro perforated leather. Tan heel, and oh, so shiny. Drawing the foot to his shoulder, Sebastian's eyes caught James', and he held him in his blue-eyed stare. With lips parted and a breath that fogged up the leather, Sebastian dragged his tongue along the side of James' shoe, up the warm leather and to the man's ankle. The sock that was over Jim's knobby ankle made for the perfect place for Sebastian to kiss, before his lips moved up the inside of Jim's leg, to his knee, to his thigh.

Large hands grasped Moriarty's knees, and shoved them apart in a vulgar manner; at that point, the sniper didn't hide what his intentions were, not when he leaned forward and sighed, "No, not in the mood for games... But I'm going to be a good boy," the tiger chimed, "And Daddy's going to tell Sebby where he hid tiger's blow or needle." Moran hummed a noise, his voice some singsong tone, as he nuzzled the growing erection hiding behind the layers of James' trousers.


	2. Craving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran's desperation hits its peak.

James was never known to be a patient man, especially when he was expecting something important. At the moment, the heat of Sebastian's mouth and the noises the sniper made were definitely high on the list. The tiger's teeth found James' trouser button, and with a twist of his head and a pull back, he popped the button through the slot with ease. Large, generous hands grasped Moriarty's thighs with desperation, fingers turned to claws, digging. Fingers creeping upward, they found a tender spot of James' thighs, which sent a sort of jolt of pain - just a twinge - through the criminal's body. A nerve, that was all, Sebastian had simply found a nerve.

Beneath him, Sebastian was purring, making obscene little noises that let Jim know just where the tiger's mind rested. His tongue lapped from his mouth to coax Jim's zipper between sharp, nicotine-familiar teeth, and Sebastian dragged the zipper down slowly, one little 'pop' at a time, until James was free from his confines and Sebastian was left panting, looking up at the criminal with a slight blush of excitement across his cheeks, lips flushed pink from readiness. Moriarty had a fondness for his tiger, especially during times like these. Typically, Jim would have to hire someone to do the job Moran was prepared to, but today, the sniper was saving Jim a few quid.

Granted, the tiger didn't know that. If he did, surely all hell would break loose.

With his nails raking downwards, Sebastian dragged his touch along Jim's thighs, curling his fingers into fists to bunch up the man's trousers and tug the fly open, exposing even more of James' erection hidden behind a thin layer of dark-coloured cotton brief. Near the top band, a clear stain of precome blotted on the surface, darkening it. Sebastian's tongue found it quickly, lapping away at the slickness of the cotton fabric, blue eyes locked on to James' brown above. The sensation was enough to send a shiver down Jim's spine, to prickle his skin and make the hairs stand on end. "Get on with it, then," Moriarty casually growled, waving a hand as though Moran were boring him - though quite the opposite was happening. Taking the orders with an honest heart, Sebastian reached up with his long fingers to grasp at the band of James' pants, tugging at the elastic, and there, he peeled down the cloth over Jim's cock, exposing it to the cool air.

Irish-Catholic. That had to have been James' upbringing, Sebastian assumed, not only because of his regional dialect, but because the man was uncut, as well. With a firm grip, Sebastian's left hand grasped James' cock and he gave a squeeze, tight enough to earn a humming noise of pleasure from Jim's lips. A squeeze and downward tug earned another groan, and Moran shifted his weight from one knee to the other, his entire body practically squirming with excitement. Perhaps, he thought, if he did a good enough job, then James would give him back his drugs, and all would be right with the world. And, knowing Jim, that had been his plan all along: take Tiger's drugs, get Tiger's blowjob, give Tiger's drugs back.

And - _gaaasssp._

Sebastian's thumb slid over the head of James' cock, smearing precome about the tip. It was enough to make James' head throw back against the wing-back chair with a soft, cushioned thump, and earn a drawn-out gasp from the magpie's throat. "Fuckin' hell, Basher," Jim managed to groan, when he felt lips suddenly descend against the head of his length. Moran at the helm, the sniper gave no warning when his mouth enclosed around the head of Jim's member, bare, and greedily swallowed down the man's length. Further, further, Sebastian went down, until his nose pressed to the small tuft of black hair at the base of Jim's cock.

"Easy, tiger," Moriarty groaned, one hand finding its way to the back of Sebastian's head. There, nimble, pale fingers laced with blond locks, and Moriarty gripped Moran's head by his nape to hold him in place, gripping him and pushing him down just a little more, just a little more, just a little -

_Gag._

Sebastian choked, and came back up with a gurgle of a grunt, eyes already a bit wet from it and lashes damp like dewdrops clung to each hair. Without giving himself a moment to recover, the sniper wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand, and dove down once more to swallow James whole. The tingling sensation of Moran's heat against James' sex sent Moriarty into a blaze of lust, burning white-hot and bursting inside of him like a supernova. Engulfed by Moran's mouth, James' other hand gripped the arm of the chair with desperation to hold on, knowing Sebastian would only get himself more riled up.

With a wet pop, Moran's lips came off of James' cock, and between his lips and the head of Moriarty's length, there hung a string of spittle and precome, thick with sex. It popped when Moran licked his lips, and gazed up at Jim, "Is Daddy going to tell Tiger where his drugs are?" Moran whispered, panting. Pupils dilated, his pulse pounded in his ears, and he gazed upward with hopeful intent in his eyes.

"Not quite, dearest," Moriarty purred, cooed, slithered from his lips with serpentine lust, "You aren't finished, yet."

The Tiger gazed up at the Magpie and nodded, knowing exactly what he had to do. James wanted to come? James would come, Moran would be sure of it. Diving back down, Sebastian eagerly took Jim's length in his hand and began to pump away, twisting his wrist on the downturn to give a good strain on the man's prick. Slick from spit, it was no surprise the slurping noises, the wet squelches that erupted as Moran went back to work, hunger in his eyes and lust on the tip of his tongue. Already hard himself, Moran took a moment to reach down between his own legs, and with wet fingers, pushed at his erection to keep it at bay. It would have to wait, he decided, because his boss was on the top of the most important list, for the moment. With his eyes closed and wet lashes darkened, Sebastian worked away, lapping his tongue along the side of James' cock, working down, until he sucked at the base. The pornographic noises that left James' lips were filthy, the, " _Fuck me_ ,"s and, "Oh, _Tiger_ ,"s and, "Deeper, _more_ , right there, hell  _yes_ "s.   _  
_

Worked up into a sweat, James had loosened his tie and pulled it off to the side.  His shirt in disarray, sweat ran down James' neck and soaked into the white, crisp edge of his shirt's collar.  In his gut, he could feel the tight coiling telling him that he was close.  His gut sinking, James sank back to sit more reclined in the tall chair, his legs spread like a whore and Sebastian Moran working him below.  With a hand cupping and cradling his sack, James couldn't ignore the slurping sounds Sebastian made, or deny how well the tiger worked when he was eager.  In those same exotic shoes that Moran had licked earlier like some kind of dog, Jim's toes began to curl, working up towards the wave that -

Towards the wave that -

Towards the -

Crashing.  He was crashing.  His muscles tightened up and the coil in his gut unraveled, and in Sebastian's hot and eager mouth, Jim came undone.  A roll of his hips; more of a gentle bucking, really, Jim's free hand reached above his head to grip the backing of the chair he'd burrowed himself in, and he gripped the top curve of it, holding on for dear life as he rode out his orgasm.  Teeth clenched and toes curled, Jim's body jerked slightly as the last ribbons of release shot over Sebastian's tongue and lips, and Jim's near-black eyes opened to catch a glimpse of Moran lapping away hungrily at his lips, cleaning up every drop that smeared over his raw-red lips.

Panting, James' body went slack, and the man crumpled in the chair.  Discombobulated, all of the universe and stars shot through James' mind, fading in nebula colours and flashing bright twinkles.  Grinning, Moriarty pushed himself over onto one elbow against the arm of the chair, and his other hand brushed back the tiger's sweat-damp hair.  

"Good, Tiger," Jim huffed, trying to catch his breath as he thumbed at the sniper's facial bones, over sharp cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.

Swallowing the last clucks of sticky-sweet release, Sebastian kissed the pad of Jim's thumb when it brushed over his lips, and the sniper asked innocently up at his lover, "Now, can I have them?"  He batted his eyelashes and pouted his lip to look as innocent and sweet as possible, which only made him look like a whole new level of whorish. 

"Let's see," James said, smirking, "Have you _really_ earned it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, Chapter 3 will come soon!


End file.
